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by CatherineDuchessofVineyard
Summary: He carries that picture everywhere. Takes every opportunity to slip it out of his pocket. Looks at it for hours. Because he knows he screwed up horribly this time. He knows she's gone for good.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir.

**Author's Note: **Hi, I'm planning to write a multi-chaptered Lukanette. It's a little bit of an AU, seeing there's no Ladybug and Chat Noir here, but I'm sticking to some events in the cartoon. I hope all of who'll read this will enjoy. Please leave a review. Thank you!

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**Back **

**Prologue**

Five years.

That's how long it had been since he last saw her. Since he last heard of her. Since he was last able to feel her touch, to smell her sweet fragrance. She left without a note, without a warning, without a word to him. She disappeared without a trace, and had it not been for her job, he would have probably never found out where she had gone.

Sure, it wasn't like he hadn't deserved that, because he most definitely had. Despite that vivid knowledge, however, he couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of remorse whenever he thought back to what she had done—not only to him, but to all of them. That feeling was instantly replaced by guilt and by an intense need to hit himself, because every time he thought about her actions, memories of what had caused them flooded his mind. He had been so stupid… He'd had everything. Everything. How could he have pushed it away so easily, he would never know.

She was happy now. At least, that was what he had heard. She lived in New York, in one of those huge penthouses at the top of a skyscraper. She had graduated with flying colors from the best fashion university in town, and now had a successful career as a fashion designer of the stars – like she always dreamt of. As far as he know, she's giving Gabriel Agreste a run for his money and quite obviously, she had already moved on.

And him? He was still there, right where she had left him. Still trying to forget her, still trapped in the past. He lived in Paris still, in that old boathouse his mother left him – much to the annoyance oh his manager. Pursuing his dreams, he's now one of the top singers in France and possibly Europe, he never really did asked his manager how famous he'd got these past few years. His mother went back to Scotland after he and Juleka completed their education, whilst his sister became a make-up artist living with her longtime girlfriend, Rose.

As a singer, you could say he had everything – a nice expensive car, a wardrobe full of designer clothing and shoes, he's got a real house somewhere, and of course his beloved guitars. But, his most prized possession was a picture. . An old, rumpled photograph. A photograph of her.

It was taken a long time ago, just after the first exposure of his band with his sister and friends, Kitty Section. Marinette was with them at that time, helping them make the costume and registering. Juleka took the picture – it was during dinner his mother cooked for them. She was on the port of the boat, the Seine twinkling under the bright starry skies. With just enough light from their boathouse and the street lights nearby, you could see her clearly, dressed in her usual outfit of pink pants and ballet flats, black blazer and a white shirt with her signature flowers. She was smiling as usual with a serene look on her face.

He may have forgotten what other things happened that night, the conversation, even the food they ate, but not this – not the fact he was the one who made her smile like that. Confessing his love for her that night just before they went on stage and her accepting her feelings that made him sing a song he wrote just for her.

And he would give _anything_ to be able to do that again—at least once more.

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**A/N: **Please leave a review! I'll update soon, I promise. Thank you all. ÷


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note: **Hi there! I hope after this chapter, reviews will line up. Pretty please? An amateur writer like me longs for that.

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**Back **

**Chapter 1**

"You want to what?" Marinette Dupain-Cheng incredulously shrieked, her shock-filled eyes fixed on the man standing before her. "I'm not sure if I heard you right."

Luka looked away, his eyes downcast; as much as he wanted, he found himself unable to look at her. He had known that she would react something like this, of course, and he had spent weeks thinking of a way to keep her from misunderstanding him. Once he finally decided it was time to break the news to her, he could say he had been fully prepared for whatever reaction she might have.

What he hadn't prepared for was the mixture of emotions that had hit him all at once. Before, he'd been certain that this was the right decision; now, he was slowly beginning to regret it with every inch of his fiber.

"You want to _call off _the wedding?" she asked again, her words causing his head to snap at her direction and his eyes finally meet hers.

"No!" he exclaimed, positively horrified with the prospect. How could she even think of something like that? "Gods no, Marinette! I just… I just want to postpone it for a while," he explained. "I mean, I've just turned twenty-three. You're only twenty-one. Don't you think we're a bit too young to get married?"

Almost instantly, he could tell she did not agree with him. "Too young?" she scoffed. "We've been together since I was fourteen, that's seven years! You proposed when I was nineteen! We've been planning this wedding for two years! Now, you're telling me, we're a bit too young to get married?"

"I know, but –" he tried to interrupt, but she didn't give him a chance to do so.

"But what? Why are you doing this?" She paused only for a moment, waiting for an answer – it didn't come, causing her to feel angry at him. "Do you even have a solid explanation for this? And why now? We've established that date months ago!"

Once again, he opened his mouth to speak, to give her the explanations she was so obviously demanding, but to no avail.

"Why is it that, two weeks before the wedding, you decide that you're insecure and that, in fact, you don't want it anymore?" she yelled, glaring daggers at him.

Any other person would have simply assumed that she was very angry—and therefore, very dangerous—no one really dares anger Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and would have run off as soon as the opportunity presented itself. But Luka was not just anybody—he was her fiancé and he knew her. He noticed her glassy eyes, heard the faint tremor in her voice, and saw the hurt written all over her now emotionless features.

It was the first time in a long while that he felt so guilty—and so incredibly stupid.

But it was also the first time in a long while that he felt angry, as well. His decision had taken her by surprise, he knew, and she had a right to speak her mind and lash her emotions out on him, but instead of listening to him, listen to the explanations she was shouting for, she kept interrupting him and jumping to her own conclusions. And that was not right.

Soon enough, he found himself shouting right back at her. "It's not that I don't want it anymore, Marinette!" he yelled, surprising her and effectively shutting her up. "I just… I'm doing this because I want us to be sure of what we want from this life. Because I don't want you to feel like you've sacrificed something—_anything_—by marrying me when you still haven't even finished college. You just got that internship from _Gabriel_ and your clients are lining up from the fashion blog you made. I want you to be truly happy. And I'm afraid that, if we rush this—"

"Don't you dare!" she hissed, interrupting him. "Don't you dare make it seem like _I'm_ your top priority, like _I'm_ the reason why you're doing this." She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath in hopes to collect herself, before continuing, "I don't want you to go home and tell everybody _I'm_ the reason why we broke up!"

"Marinette!" he exclaimed, scandalized. "I'm not breaking up with you! I just—" he tried to speak again, but she cut him off once more.

"Oh, no?" she asked, pretending to sound innocent and confused; then her voice hardened as she continued, "Well, I am! You think I'll wait for you to figure out what you want, just because we're engaged and I'm supposed to? You think I'll waste my life waiting for you to man up and make me your wife, just because I love you and because there's never been a shadow of doubt in my heart that I want to spend the rest of my life with you? Newsflash, I won't! It's over, Luka!"

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**A/N:**I know, out of character, but hey everyone does that when they grow up and mature right? Please forgive me but I hope to read more of your reviews! ÷


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:**I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note:**It's the weekend, and I might update two consecutive chapters once I am done, but here's the first one.

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**Back**

**Chapter 2**

Standing there now, in the middle of downtown New York, looking up at the pure white architecture that housed Marinette Dupain-Cheng's fashion house, he found it hard to remember what had been of his life ever since she left him. Achievements had been made, goals had been attained, and obligations had been fulfilled; he had played an active role into them all, but despite that, it would be nothing more than a lie, were he to say that he had actually managed to live without her. She was his everything—and without her there to guide him down the right path, to be by his side every step of the way, his life had lost its purpose.

Now, he stood there, his hands buried in his pockets, his teal eyes following a path up the stairs that would lead them to his destination. Nothing separated them now—nothing but a brick wall, a door he would have to open, a little effort he would have to put into finding her. He had been dreaming about this moment for years.

And yet, when put face to face with the daunting prospect of having to explain himself - to say that he at least had an _idea_ about what to do next would be nothing more than a big, fat lie.

She was in there, he knew. Adrien Agreste himself had assured him that she would. He had told her everything about her, provided him with every last bit of information that he could. What he had failed to tell him, however, was how he should act in her presence, what he should do once he found her.

Regardless of that, he was already there, and he would not back down—never again.

The practical part of his plan—a key part in its entirety—was getting inside, which was an obstacle that his friend—ever the influential model and heir to the _Gabriel_ line—had easily taken out of his way. He knew that Adrien had the same feelings for Marinette and he knows that the first year of Marinette being away from Paris, he tried wooing her, but Adrien noticed that nothing he did can make her smile like she used to. So, true to Adrien Agreste, he went back to Paris and find him, Luka, which was an easy feat and gave him the information needed for him to see her again and make amends. After all, nothing can make him smile like he used to than her.

Once inside, finding her came across as surprisingly easy. He followed the path he had been instructed by one of the helpful guards, and just when he began to think he might have gotten lost, he heard her voice—her beautiful, silky voice; the voice that had forever haunted his dreams; the voice that he had missed so much.

"Where are you?" She was talking on the phone. "Starbucks? Yeah, just get me a big cup of coffee—I don't know why, but I have a feeling I'll need it today. Thanks, Chloe. Bye."

He rounded the corner, and there she was, just as beautiful and perfect as he remembered. She was leaning against a massive, mahogany desk, her lithe figure clad in a little black and white dress that hugged her curves and reached down to her mid-thigh; matching high-heeled shoes adorned her long, slim legs. Eyes fixed on the screen of her expensive-looking phone, she did not acknowledge his presence for a while. It was only when she turned to face the door, placing her phone on the desk beside her, that her gaze finally fell on him, and he could continue to ogle her.

Her hair was a little longer than he remembered, but framing her face like it had always done, and just the same shade of midnight blue that he kept seeing flashes of in his dreams. Her beautiful blue eyes were framed by thick, long lashes, and accentuated by light, delicate make-up. Her mouth opened once, her tongue slipping out to wet her pink, soft-looking lips.

"Luka…" she breathed, a frown adorning her flawless features as her confused gaze sought his. For a brief moment, 'vulnerable' was the word to describe her. But then her back straightened and her eyes hardened, her lips settling in a firm line. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Marinette…" he tried to speak, but trailed off, unsure of what he was supposed to say. This was the hardest part—giving explanations. Although he was human, and thus made mistakes more often than not, most of them were not grave enough for him not to be able to escape the consequences with the help of his calm and carefree attitude. (Not to mention the fact that everybody knew he meant no harm, no matter what he did.) But this one mistake he had made five years ago had been catastrophic. To say that he was unsure of how to approach the problem would be a terrible understatement.

"Actually, how the hell did you get here, in the first place?" And it was painfully obvious that she was not going to make his job any easier. "You shouldn't have been granted entrance."

Swallowing heavily, he met her gaze. "Adrien," was the only thing he mustered saying—and the only thing she needed in order to realize what had happened.

She rolled her eyes. "Why?" she demanded.

"I…" once again, he tried to speak, but she interrupted him.

"You know what? Forget I even asked that question," she said, turning her back to him as she rounded her desk, taking a seat on her leather chair. "You and I have nothing to discuss. And if you came here in search for a fashion designer—which I doubt—then I will have to disappoint you, because either way, I'm very busy. New York Fashion Week is around the corner and there's a lot of models I have to dressed, not to mention the celebrities that wants things By Appointment. I—" she would have continued, but she caught herself in time. There was no need for her to draw this out. "You've come the wrong way," she finished.

"I came here to _see_ you, Marinette," he confessed, and the soft tone he had used seemed to be at odds with her rare cold, determined voice.

Marinette's eyes rose to meet his once more. "And that was a mistake," she provided dismissively.

"Marinette, I—"

"You nothing," snapped. "I have no idea how you managed to find me—even with Adrien's help—and I don't know why you bothered with that, in the first place, but frankly, I very much doubt I could care less. I just want you to leave."

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**A/N:** Well, if you're Mari, would you act like her upon meeting Luka again? Leave a review! Thanks!


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note: **Thank you all for the kind words and views. Sorry for the delay, I have this annoying thing called work, unfortunately.

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**Back**

**Chapter 3**

It was hard to grasp why he had come back, why he had bothered to find her, when for five years, she had thought she had been long forgotten, erased from his memory, replaced by a girl equally as—or even more—beautiful. A girl that could actually understand him, that was nothing like her. She would not have midnight blue hair, she had concluded over the course of the past years, and if she happened to be, she would most likely have any color other than blue eyes. She would be taller. Her hair would be long and flowing freely in the air. She would be smart and witty, but also funny. She would have a beautiful smile, a great body, and also, most importantly, she would have talent for music. Someone who could really understand Luka when he's off explaining music. In short, she would be one of those golden girls that everyone seemed to love—one that could easily turn heads even in her worst days. Luka certainly deserved someone like that, she believed, no matter what he had done to her.

Despite popular belief, Marinette really loved her fiancé. The way her heart shattered when their relationship ended had been her fault—her fault for getting her hopes up, for even thinking that, while he might harbor some feelings for her, he would want to spend the rest of his life with her right then and there. And once he found the perfect girl—a girl that was not her, she would always need to remind herself—he would never make that mistake again. Actually, she did not believe that to be a mistake, in the first place—at least not on his part. The man had only told her what he thought, what he wanted at that time.

It had hurt—terribly so—but then again, that had not been his fault, but hers.

It was amazing how much her perspective over this situation could change because of one simple action. Because if all of her past theories were true, then what in the world was he doing here? Why had he bothered to search for her? Why had he gotten Adrien, of all people, involved? What could have possibly been so important that it had gained even her teenage crush to care?

Marinette shook her head. Those were questions she had no answer to, and she preferred not to dwell too much on them.

A slight shiver rippled through her as she opened the door that led to the porch, causing a gush of cold wind to rush past her and into her apartment; quickly closing it behind her, she stepped outside and slowly made her way towards the railing, leaning against it as she reached it.

Every time she came here, she was reminded of how lucky she had been to buy this penthouse; the view it had over the city was amazing, especially at this time of the day, when the sun burned red in the horizon and the night threatened to take over, casting shadows over the surroundings. The city lights were dimly lit, bathing the darker streets, reflected by the newly-formed puddles that lay scattered here and there. The scent of wet pavement filled the air, accompanied by the sounds of traffic coming from below.

"Such a beautiful city," she mused quietly to herself as she looked down at its crowded streets.

In typical New York fashion, people were bustling around, each of them hurrying to finish their errands so that they could go home and call it a day; they crossed the streets in groups that melded upon meeting, creating a sea of colors moving in all directions. Cars waited patiently for the light to turn green, then drove off, giving fluency to the traffic once more.

"How can it still feel so empty, I'll never know…" she whispered, shaking her head.

It was hard to believe, given the circumstances, but there were times like these when she felt terribly lonely. Like she didn't belong here. Like this place could never become her home, no matter how much she'd like it to. Like she should pack her bags and go back to Paris, go back to the house she grew up in, go back to the city that gave her so much inspiration, to go back to where all her friends are.

And it was the stupidest thing ever, because she loved this place—she loved America, she loved New York, she loved her house.

But even so, she couldn't deny the fact that she knew exactly why she was feeling like this. It was because she missed them. She missed them and everything they had once had.

She missed the classroom she spend so much time in. She missed the café near the Louvre that made the perfect White Choco Mocha. She missed the bakery where her parents baked the most delicious pastries ever. She missed her room—the pink and brown room that witnessed everything as she grew up, witnessed her laughter, her anger, her tears. It was almost incredible how much protection those four walls had provided her with.

She missed seeing Alix and Kim make a bet on almost everything. She missed Alya, filming everything. She missed Nino and his awesome tunes. She missed Mylene and Ivan's always on cloud nine atmosphere. She missed Nathaniel and his comics. She missed Juleka and Rose's creativity. She missed Sabrina, the always loyal one. She missed Adrien, the sunshine child who tried it with her a year after all the fiasco with Luka, but she realized then, that even if she was hurt, she cannot go loved anyone else. The only thing – or rather, the only person that still connected her and her life in Paris was Chloe – her head of Marketing.

Above all, she missed Luka. She missed listening to his compositions that was written just for her and about her. She missed those late nights in his boathouse, cuddling under the starry night sky. She missed those late nights when neither of them could sleep and they ended up walking around the park, holding hands like the two young adults in love they were. She missed the kisses he would steal from her when in a particular romantic mood. She missed those cold winter nights when he would make his way to her apartment and climb under the covers with her in search for warmth.

She missed everything. She missed him. They had been so in love… How could he do something like that? And why?

With a sigh, she shook her head. She didn't have the answer to that question. And she had come at peace with the fact that she would probably never find it.

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**A/N:** I know, Mari's self-pity here is quite irritating and forgive me for that. Since it's the weekend, I will be able to update right away. Leave a review, please?


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note: **Been busy.

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**Back**

**Chapter 4**

A few days later, Luka found himself in a position that he had never thought he would—standing before the door of his ex-fiancée's penthouse, his hands buried in his pockets, fingers playing with the metal key he had been given. Their first meeting after five years spent apart had not exactly been what he—or anybody else, for that matter—could call a success, but then again, it was not like he had expected it to be.

It had actually gone better than the scenarios his mind had conjured up on the long flight to New York—he had gotten to take a good look at her and determine that she was alright, that she was doing perfectly well without him (even though he knew despite her astonishing qualities, she can be quite clumsy, even though he knew she easily got cold on winter nights, even though he knew she would sometimes act as impulsive and irrational as her fourteen year old self) and as if all that had not been more than what he could have ever dared to ask for, he had also gotten to hear her voice, to talk to her, to have her attention focused entirely on him one more time, no matter the fact that the emotions beneath that attention had not been the best.

That day, she had not needed to kick him out of the building—he had known himself when it was time to give up. The prospect that, even after all these years, he could still tell when she needed space caused the tiniest bit of hope to flourish in his heart. His departure had not signified his defeat, though. And maybe he had been unfair, working behind her back like that, but Chloe who had been her closest friend all these years had seemed to understand that perfectly—hence the reason why he was standing there now, in front of her door.

Fishing the small silver key Chloe had given him out of his pocket, he hesitated no more as he slipped it into the lock, carefully twisting it. This was not right—the forceful approach he was attempting—but the Chloe had assured him that the only way to get her friend to listen something she did not want to hear was by forcing her, and when he put that image face to face with everything he had once known about her, he realized that she might just be right, especially if he was the one who wanted to talk to her. Either way, it was a possibility, and he had promised himself that he would try them all in search for her forgiveness, even if it took forever.

Once inside her apartment, much like how it had happened at the fashion house, he found her easily. He tried not to get distracted by the beauty of the apartment—the subtle, elegant way it was decorated reminding him of her so much that it sent a painful surge through his heart—as he followed the path that led to the porch. Had she been inside, her keen ears would have immediately picked up the slight noise he had inevitably made when he unlocked and opened the door. Without a doubt, he would have already been back into the lobby by now.

True to the conclusion he had so effortlessly reached, she was outside, leaning against the railing as she stared down at the lively city. Her hair was loose, the wind playing with the silky strands, but what caught his attention was her outfit. She was barefoot, dressed in what both had to be the shortest nightgown he had ever seen, or a slightly longer-than-normal top, made of black satin and matching lace.

The protective instincts that had been dormant inside of him ever since she left instantly flared back to life; he had always been possessive of her, despite how at odds that seemed to be with his easygoing and calm personality.

"What are you doing?" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he immediately realized that he should have said something else entirely.

Gasping in surprise, she quickly whirled around, the effort she had to make in order to keep her mouth from dropping open at the sight of him being rather obvious. "What am I doing?" she screeched, the pure shock that filled her eyes making it impossible for them to narrow in her signature death-glare. "What are _you_ doing? How the hell did you get inside my house?"

"That doesn't matter," he answered dismissively, his mind clouded by the overwhelming need to protect, to defend, to mark her as his. "What are you doing dressed like that? What if I were someone else?"

"I can dress however I want in my house," she snapped, annoyed. "Hell, I can run around _naked_ if I want to!"

"In your house, yes," he agreed. "But you were in your underwear, on the porch, outside."

"So what? I was getting ready for bed!" she defended, not entirely sure why she even bothered. She figured it was because she was not one to sit idly around while others threw accusations at her, and not because she felt the need to explain herself to him.

"You sleep like that?"

"What?" she snapped, placing her hands on her hips. "Does it seem too little to you? Do I need to remind you of those times when I used to sleep naked? I never heard you protesting back then!"

Luka shook his head. "That was different," he said. "You were with me then."

"Yes," she agreed, her voice bitter, "And my presence mattered so damn much to you, that you got rid of me with the first opportunity that arose. So don't you dare get all possessive on me right now, because you have no right—no right at all."

"Marinette…" His eyes softening, he reached out to touch her, only to have her slap his hand away. "Don't talk like that," he told her.

Marinette's eyes narrowed in a cold glare. "Get out of my house," she seethed, before promptly turning around and entering her apartment, the sliding door slamming shut behind her. She disappeared from his sight in less than a second, and although he wanted nothing more than to run after her and kiss her senseless, show her just how much she meant to him, Luka knew that would not be the best choice.

She was angry; no, scratch that—she was absolutely livid. And not that he was scared of her, because he would let her send him straight to the ER if that was what it would take for her to forgive him, but he knew just how much she needed to be alone in moments like these. Marinette was not like other girls—she was special. Whenever she was angry or hurt, she preferred solitude; she wanted to deal with whatever problems arose on her own. And it was exactly because he understood that he quietly made his way out of her penthouse, with no more prodding or complaining.

After all, this was only the beginning. Because Luka had no intention whatsoever of leaving New York without getting her to listen to him—or in his wildest dreams, without having made her his fiancée once again.

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**A/N: Leave a review!**


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note:** I apologize profusely. Life happened, work interfered and that is why, I'm 5 months late for this update. I'll try to finish this today seeing that I have my off tomorrow. Thank you so much for the messages and reviews! Hope you continue reading!

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**Back**

**Chapter 5**

The next day, sometime around noon, while she was still fuming because of his actions, came the apology.

Marinette was in the living room, lounging on a couch, letting the late summer sun bathe her skin, when she heard the doorbell ringing. More than a little intrigued, since she wasn't expecting anybody to come over, she wasted no time in wrapping a robe around herself and making her way downstairs.

She got the surprise of her life when she opened the door. Because, really, she would have never imagined she would be greeted by such a scene.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng?" a man, half-hidden behind a bouquet of flowers, asked. Shocked, she could only nod dumbly and take the vase when it was handed to her. "These are for you."

All she could do at that point was frown. Frown and wonder just what the hell was going on. Never before had she had flowers delivered to her apartment. Never, ever. Sure, there had been men who had courted her, who had tried to win her over by offering her different kinds of flowers. But they had always been given to her personally or she had received them to her office.

And they had never been roses—at least not this dark shade of red she loved so much.

She was still in slight shock as she signed the papers and closed the door behind the delivery boy. Her movements felt almost mechanical as she picked the vase up from the table she'd placed it on and brought it to the living room. It wasn't long until she discovered that there wasn't any card hidden amongst the flowers.

Her frown deepened. Who had done this? Who was the man who'd managed to hit the mark so right? And, most importantly perhaps, why had he sent her flowers?

Taking a seat on the couch, Marinette thought back to the last few days in hopes that she would miraculously remember something that might lead her to this mysterious person. It didn't take long for realization to hit her. There was only one person in this world who knew that dark red roses were her favorite flowers: Luka.

She rolled her eyes. But of course. She should have known that, sooner or later, he would try to pull off something like that.

Although, she had to admit, he did know how to apologize to a girl. Because, as cliché as it might seem, being offered a bunch of her favorite flowers made her feel somewhat better; it made her feel cared for, like someone out there was thinking of her, paying attention to her every need.

(Marinette chose not to dwell too much on the strange, but familiar, feeling curling in the pit of her stomach at the simple thought that Luka had actually remembered what her favorite flowers were).

But that didn't mean he was forgiven. Not for the stunt he'd pulled a few days ago and certainly not for what he did to her back then. What it did mean, though, was that there was a slight chance that they could get to part without her having to beat him up beforehand.

Because if there was one thing in this world that she was completely sure of, that was the fact that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

And she could only pray to God that he would get the message and leave her alone.

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**A/N: Leave a review! ÷**


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note:** I apologize profusely. Life happened, work interfered and that is why, I'm 5 months late for this update. I'll try to finish this today seeing that I have my off tomorrow. Thank you so much for the messages and reviews! Hope you continue reading!

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**Back**

**Chapter 6**

Just when she thought God had finally heard and answered her prayers, Marinette found out, all of a sudden, that she was deluding herself. Her wish hadn't been granted and, by the looks of it, such a miracle would never happen.

A few days after the flower incident, Marinette was sitting in her office, doing what she normally did at work—designing outfits, talking to clients, celebrities and the like and more designing of outfits. At only eleven in the morning, she could say she had had quite a busy day, with an early appearance at the rehearsal for New York Fashion Week.

She had just finished designing one out commissioned by a local celebrity that was also due to be viewed by said celebrity later that day, when she heard a knock on the door. Not bothering to stand up from her comfortable chair, Marinette resumed at telling whoever was on the other side to come in.

Almost instantly, she wished she hadn't. Because she then found herself trapped inside a room with the person she least wanted to see: Luka Couffaine.

Was it just her, or did this man really have some problems with understanding the meaning of the word 'no'?

She sighed. "What are you doing here, Luka?" Really, asking that question was getting tiring and downright annoying.

"I came to see you—as a _friend_," he answered. Marinette raised her head to look at him. Yup, he was smirking, just like she'd thought.

"What you need is a psychiatrist, not a _friend_," she stated, rather bluntly. "For your own good and mine, don't confuse the two." Sighing, she closed her eyes and unceremoniously dropped her pen on the desk, leaning back into her chair. "Now leave. You're wasting my time."

Luka frowned. "I'm only 5 minutes early," he said, pretending to sound confused.

You could say that snapped her out of it. "You're what?" she asked, shocked.

"I have an appointment, Marinette," he told her, a grin stretching on his features as he took in her shocked appearance.

"You can't have an appointment, for being a friend—I'm busy!" she answered matter-of-factly, rolling her eyes.

Luka smiled. "Technically, no. But I talked to your colleague—seeing as you weren't there when I called—and she granted me entrance," he explained.

"Oh, how very convenient," she snapped sarcastically. She couldn't believe he had gotten to such extremes in order to just talk to her. "I take it you seduced her through the phone, or what?"

"Not really," Luka replied, trying hard to refrain himself from bursting into laughter. "I just told her I was in desperate need for some counseling and I travelled from Paris to see you after 5 long years asked her to slip me somewhere in your schedule, seeing as I've known you for a really long time and even back then and you've always helped me tons, she also said that you need someone to talk to because you've been busy and stress for the past few weeks" he explained, not at all ashamed at having her find out how much he had lied. After all, he'd done it all for her.

Marinette simply stared at him. "You make me sick," she announced after a few moments of silence.

This time, the brunette did laugh. "I know," he said. "But you can't throw me out."

"Actually, I could," she informed him, looking at him in the eye. "It would be unethical, but not impossible. What would be even more interesting, however, is my proving—very easily—that you are not in need of help and obviously here for dubious reasons. I could sue you, Luka, and if you keep stalking me like this, you will leave me with no other option."

"I guess you _could_ do that," he admitted, fighting back a smile. "The only problem is that I really _am_ in need for help—for _your_ help."

Marinette clapped her hands once. "Great!" she exclaimed, pretending to be pleased. "Admission is the first step towards recovery. Now all I have to do is recommend you the best shrink I know and then you can get started!"

"Not funny," he told her, rolling his eyes.

"I wasn't _trying_ to be funny," she hissed, positively enraged. Who the hell did he think he was, bursting into her life like that? He had no right to do any of the things he was doing to her. And the worst part of it all? She knew there was no way she could stop him.

A few years ago, when they were still together, people had a tendency to believe that _she_ was the stubborn one in their relationship and that that was the reason why Luka did everything she said. The reality was another. The stubborn one here was him. And with what was currently happening, she doubted anyone would need more proof.

Sighing, she brought a hand a hand up to run through her midnight blue locks and closed her eyes as she asked once more: "Why are you here?"

"I need to talk to somebody," he answered, stubbornly holding his ground.

"Fine," she snapped, putting her pend and crossing her arms just below her breasts. "Give me the chance to brush up on…me…trying to be your _friend_. Talk."

It didn't take him long to start doing so. Just like it didn't take her long to realize just how much of a mistake she'd made.

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**A/N: Leave a review! ÷**


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note:** I apologize profusely. But I will post all chapter now tonight! I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Back **

**Chapter 7**

"You see, there's this girl in my life… She's incredibly beautiful, amazing and smart. She's clumsy, and somewhat self-conscious, but very independent and sometimes even arrogant. She can knock you out with a simple punch, no matter how lithe she looked like but even so, I love teasing her, because I think she's very cute when pissed off or even angered. She loves to smile, her smiles are those that feels like can lift a thousand sorrows, just…you know, she has the most beautiful smile. What I like most about her, though, is her eyes. She probably isn't even aware of it, but they give away all her thoughts and feelings – but only I can read them. She wants to appear strong all the time but I know better. In reality, she has doubts and fears too; she cares for the people around her more than she cares about herself. She's only ever wanted them to feel the same, to see how she sees them, to let them feel that they are important, cared for and loved. I hear her heart song all the time, even now, it's still wonderful and amazing just like her. She's the lucky charm of everyone, you know. Especially me. However, that's where I stepped wrong. I hurt her. I told her I didn't want to marry her. I didn't mean that, of course; the only problem was that I didn't realize it in time. But I'm sorry now. And I'm working my ass off trying to make her forgive me."

Marinette remained quiet the entire time he spoke. She wasn't stupid—she knew it was her who he was talking about. But she tried to ignore it and focused on keeping the discussion as professional or you could say, _friendly, _as possible. After all, even though she was well aware of the fact that he wasn't here to look or talk to a friend, they were still in her office, right now, right there and then; he had made an appointment and claimed that he needed someone to talk to. She would not fall in his trap, especially since she had been doing everything in her power to avoid having this conversation with him.

"How do you think she felt when you told her that?" she asked. It was the standard question most _friends_ had to ask, serving to force the other party to think—most of the times—about things he/she didn't particularly like, but things that played a huge role in the grand scheme of things and in his/her recovery, nonetheless.

Marinette ignored the little voice at the back of her mind which told her that, despite all that, she'd asked that question more out of curiosity than anything else.

"I… I don't know," Luka replied, looking down. "I don't even want to think about it."

"Well, you're going to have to," she said, her eyes fixed on the sketchpad resting on her lap; she'd refused to meet his gaze ever since he started talking. "Life is not always about doing what you want or like. Sometimes, it's necessary to think about the people around you, too. Not to mention the fact that you'll never get to close this chapter of your life if you don't 'study' it thoroughly," she spoke, somehow managing to sound completely uninterested in what she was saying.

That bothered him, of course. In a way, it even discouraged him the slightest bit. But he told himself he had to be firm and hold his ground; it was uncommon for Marinette to hide her real feelings behind a mask of coldness and indifference. He was pretty sure that was the stunt she was trying to pull off right now. So he continued.

"I believe she felt hurt. Hurt and betrayed and pained. I broke her heart, I know." He paused for a moment, before adding, "Words can't express how sorry I am for what I did to her. Never really good with words."

Marinette nodded, as if having just understood something, then lifted her head and finally locked eyes with him. "Tell me, Luka, do you think the word 'sorry' covers for it? Do you think hearing it makes her feel better in any way?" she asked, cocking her head to the side as she waited for his answer. It never came. "You feel 'sorry' when your puppy gets hit by a car. You feel 'sorry' when you lose your mother's favorite pair of earrings. But when you do something like that to the person you supposedly love… it's much more than just that."

She was getting too personally involved and she knew it. What she didn't know was why she suddenly felt so powerless against the need to let all the years of hurt pent-up frustration out, all the questions she had asked, all the answers she had found by herself.

"I know," he answered quietly.

"She doesn't give a damn about your sorry, Luka," she told him. "All she wants is you out of her life. She's been through enough."

"I know," he repeated, nodding. "But I want a second chance. A chance to make it up to her. A chance to win her back. A chance to make this right."

Marinette shook her head. "You're not going to get it," she said as she threw her sketchpad on the desk, crossed her legs and clasped her hands together on her knee.

Truth to be told, she had expected him to snap, to react somehow to her words. He didn't. He only smiled lightly and stood up, never breaking eye-contact with her.

"I'm ready to do anything for it. If I have to beg her to take me back, I will. If I have to kill just to regain her trust, I will. _Anything_, Marinette. All she has to do is ask. And if she doesn't, I'll take care of finding out what she wants, what she needs, what she silently yearns for. And I will give it to her. Because I love her. Because she is the best damn thing that ever happened to me. And because I will never make the mistake of giving up on her again."

Those were the last words he told her before turning around and exiting the room, leaving her with her mouth almost hanging open in shock. Leaving her to think about what she'd just been through. Leaving her to chew on what he'd just said. Leaving her to truly contemplate the idea of giving him a second chance.

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**A/N: Leave a review! ÷**


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note:** I apologize profusely. But I will post all chapter now tonight! I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Back **

**Chapter 8**

"Oh my Gosh!" a blonde haired woman sarcastically squealed, clapping her hands together in what she hopes is delight. "Tell me more! What did he say?"

Marinette could only shake her head at her friend's sarcasm. "The right question would be: what _didn't_ he say?" She paused for a moment. "I mean… he didn't actually say anything very special, you know? Most of the things he told me were standard: 'take me back', 'I want a second chance', 'I'll make it right this time', 'I'm sorry', 'I still love you'…" she trailed off, rolling her eyes. Then she sighed, and her shoulders slumped. "I really can't understand what it was about his speech that made me question my actions."

It was Chloe's turn to roll her eyes. "Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Duh? Isn't it obvious?" she asked. "And let's face it, you_ still_ love him, Dupain-Cheng."

"I know," Marinette replied, her voice soft and quiet. "But I've been away from him for so long and I've tried so hard to hate him for what he's done to me… I didn't manage to, yes, but that's another story. The point is, I shouldn't be feeling like this right now. Damn it, that's the reason why I didn't want to talk to him about this!" she exclaimed, frustrated.

"Because you knew it would mess things up?" Chloe asked after a few moments of silence, sounding unsure of what she was saying. Marinette nodded. "Then that means you _knew_ what he was going to say," she pointed out, eyeing her in an almost suspicious manner.

Marinette raised an eyebrow at her. "How was I supposed to know, Chloe?" she asked. "And what are you trying to get to?"

"You didn't know _for sure_," the girl clarified. "But you at least had a vague idea about it, right? If not, how would you know that conversation was going to make you insecure?" Marinette opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off before a single sound could come out. "And that means that, somehow, you've always known he regretted what he did."

Marinette shook her head. "The moment I realized he was sorry was when I saw him there, in the doorway of my office. Luka never does things without having a very good reason and it didn't take long for me to realize what his reason was this time," she said. "If I'd known that from the very beginning, I would have never moved halfway across the world just to get away from him. I would have stayed there and waited for him to realize his mistake. I would have made it easier for him to win me back. Because, damn it, I _wanted_ him to win me back."

"Correction: you still want him to win you back," Chloe said, a small smirk present on her features. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

Marinette shrugged. "Maybe," she muttered. "But still… I'm not sure I would do the right thing by giving him another chance. I have a new life now. I've managed to achieve everything I wanted, everything I worked so hard for. I'm successful in my profession. I have friends. I have money. I live in a penthouse that people would kill for." She paused for a moment, shook her head and then continued, "I don't want to throw it all away for him. I don't want to risk losing everything and everybody again."

Chloe could only gape at her. "You think Luka would take all of this away from you?" she asked, an almost incredulous edge to her voice.

"No," she answered and raised her head to lock eyes with her. "I think I would give it all up for him. He would never ask something like this of me, but even so, I would do it without a second thought. And I hate how that feels, Chloe," she confessed. "I hate the feeling of being so controlled, so utterly powerless in front of somebody."

"Luka would never hurt you again, Marinette," her friend told her in a rare gentle voice. "He loves you so much—I could see it in his eyes when he talked about you. What he did was a mistake; a huge one, yes, but just a mistake, nonetheless. Everybody makes those. Everybody gets hurt at some point. What truly matters is the things we learn from those experiences."

She smiled. "And I bet he's learned his lesson. All I know about him is his name and what he did to you, because I never really bothered knowing you when we were kids—but for some reason or another, I can assure you that he will never make the same mistake again."

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**A/N: Leave a review! ÷**


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note:** I apologize profusely. But I will post all chapter now tonight! I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Back **

**Chapter 9**

Marinette sat quietly in the corner of a small café, dressed casually in a black shirt and light blue jeans, seeing as she had no intention whatsoever of stepping inside her office anytime that day. Bluebell eyes fixed on the screen of her phone, as she waited for her friend to make her appearance.

The woman had called her earlier in the morning and practically _forced_ her out of bed under the pretext that she had something important to communicate to her. Marinette had objected, of course, saying that the phone was a good way of communication as any, but eventually relented. Chloe knew how to choose her words, and with that big mouth she owned, the blonde almost always ended up giving in.

Five uneventful minutes passed, and she began to regret that particular trait of hers. Because it wasn't Chloe who sat down across from her, a smirk on her face, her eyes shining with victorious happiness.

Instead of snapping at him and causing a scene like she suddenly had the urge to, she just sighed in exasperation and gently placed her phone on the table, her hands coming up to cover her face as she fought the annoyance back. She wouldn't want to start screaming at him here, in a public place. And besides, why should she? It wasn't going to work—she knew that by now.

"Why is it that I'm not surprised?" she drawled, sounding quite bored, as she leaned her head on one of her hands, looking up at him.

Somehow, Luka found the courage to smirk once more, causing her to narrow her eyes at him. "I don't know," he answered simply. "I suppose you saw it coming one way or another."

Marinette took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself down, willing her temper to curb, and then exhaled slowly. Placing her hands flat on the table, she straightened her back.

"Alright, Luka," she said. "Let's lay the cards on the table. Tell me what you want from me."

"Simple: I want you. But as I said before, I want to make it right this time. So, I came here—"

"You made my friend get by your side, yes," she promptly added, nodding mockingly.

Luka smiled at her intervention, but continued, "—in hopes that I would get to have a normal conversation with you. With Marinette, my stubborn _ex-fiancée_, not Marinette, the successful _fashion designer_."

"Okay, fine," she answered, surprising him. "Let's talk."

He frowned. "What's gotten you in such a good mood?" he asked.

Marinette rolled her eyes. "I'm not in a good mood," she denied. "It's just that… I've thought about it, you know? And I've come to the conclusion that, in order to get rid of you, I have to play by your rules."

For a moment, he was quiet, seeming to contemplate her words, before raising his eyebrows and nodding slowly. "That's… that's good, I guess."

"You think so?" she drawled out uninterestedly, twisting her phone in her hand.

"Yes," he answered firmly. "It's a chance. And that's all I need. I didn't come all the way to New York with the sole intention of winning you back. I know what I've done is unforgivable, even though it was actually your stubbornness—your refusal to let me explain myself—that got us here."

Upon hearing that, Marinette opened her mouth to speak, her eyes already shooting last-minute warnings at him, but he raised a hand in the air in a sign for her to keep quiet. And although she wasn't quite sure what exactly drove her to listen to him, she did. She told herself it was only because she wanted to get it all over with; fighting would only prolong things, especially with Luka's nature.

"I betrayed your trust. I hurt you. And I'm _immensely_ sorry. I won't lie to you: I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. But if you can't—or simply don't _want_ to take me back, I'll understand. If you think you'll be happier without me, I'll leave in a heartbeat."

She could tell how much it pained him to say those words, despite the fact that he hid it quite skillfully, and for the first time ever, she found herself in the position Luka is known for; the ability of reading people so damn well.

Luka telling her that he loved her and asking for forgiveness every five minutes had become something normal—something she could handle. But seeing and hearing his pain—the pain that resembled her own so much—was too much for her. Why? Because it made her realize just how shallow she was being about this whole thing.

Luka was right—it was her stubbornness that had pushed them apart. She knew it and she admitted it. But that had been only because she had wanted it to—because she _still_ wanted it to.

Her entire body tensing, she took a deep breath and looked away from him, all of her previous boredom melting into awareness—a fact which she wasn't grateful for.

She was getting the very same feeling she had the first time they talked, three days ago; she knew things would not turn out alright. Nothing would ever be the same after he spoke, regardless of the apparent reassurance his next words brought.

"But first, I want you to listen to what I have to say. Maybe my words mean nothing to you now. Maybe they won't make you change your mind, like I hope they will. Maybe they will seem like a total waste of time for you. But I need to say them probably just as much as you need to hear them. Because, if anything else, they will give us both the closure we need in order to move on."

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**A/N: Leave a review! ÷**


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note:** I apologize profusely. But I will post all chapter now tonight! I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Back **

**Chapter 10**

Touched by his short speech, by the intensity of his voice, by his choice of words and penetrating gaze, Marinette could only nod. So he started talking.

He told her about that day. How he had known she would get mad, but had it all planned out. How scared and helpless he had felt when he saw things were getting out of control. How he did nothing but think of her in the months that preceded her leave. How he couldn't get her out of his head, even now. How something or someone had always reminded him of her and the happy times they had lived together.

He told her how he would have never even thought of breaking up with her, and even went as far as pulling out a rumpled photograph of the two of them from his pocket.

Truth to be told, it took every ounce of her willpower not to break down crying right then and there.

She asked him why he had wanted to postpone the wedding, and he simply repeated what he had told her that day: that he thought they were too young and wanted to have no regrets. That he wanted to graduate from college, find a stable job, maybe even an apartment they could own together, to act crazy and irresponsible with her by his side, just like the young adults they were enjoying life. That he wanted to propose to her when he had a good, stable job and enough money to buy her a ring of his own, and not just a family heirloom his mom passed to him that doesn't even capture the essence of Marinette. And that, most of all, he wanted her to be happy, he wanted her to get as much as she possibly could from this life. He wanted her to have everything. He wanted to _give her_ everything.

Once again, Marinette feared that she would burst into tears upon hearing him say those words.

By the time he stopped retelling the past and started talking about the present, his hands were holding onto one of hers. They were strong, bigger than her own; they gave her that feeling of safety and security that she had been silently yearning for ever since she arrived in the USA, with basically no money and no one but herself to rely on. It had been a rough time for her, full of broken hopes and sacrifices.

There had been times when she felt like all she wanted was to go back to Paris and run straight into his arms. Hell, even now, with all the money she earned and the great friends that stood by her side, she still had moments in which she wanted to do exactly that. This was one of them. And he was so close… All she would have to do is reach out and say she forgave him, say she wanted him back.

But she couldn't. Because he had betrayed her trust once. Because she had given him everything and he had thrown it all back into her face. Because she knew that, as strong as she may be, she wouldn't be able to handle getting her heart broken one more time. And because she was too much of a coward to give him another chance.

Marinette shook her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly, snatching her hands away from his and abruptly standing up. "I can't do this."

She was out of the room before he could even get to call her name. She ran out of the café and quickly crossed the street to where her car was parked, wanting nothing more than to get inside and drive home.

Part of her wish had almost come true when she heard her name being yelled from behind her.

"Marinette!" She would recognize that voice anywhere. Involuntary, her pace quickened. "Marinette, wait!"

"I want to go home," she told him as she stopped next to her car, sensing his presence behind her. "I don't want to keep talking anymore. I want…" she trailed off, turning around to meet his gaze. "I want you gone from my life. You said you'd understand."

"I know," he said softly, and his disappointed voice made her heart clench painfully in his chest. "I will."

"Good." The nod she gave him hurt more than she ever thought possible, and she knew she had to get away before she broke down. Yanking the car door open, she quickly slipped inside, only to have him stop her from slamming it shut behind her.

"Please think about what I told you," he begged, his eyes desperate as they locked with hers. "You have my number. _Please_ call me. I'll understand and respect your decision, but please… think it through." Marinette looked away, one of her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. "Can I expect a phone-call?" he pressed on, and her eyes teared up.

Strangely enough, her voice did not tremble when she spoke her answer. "Goodbye, Luka."

Finally closing the door, she put the key into ignition and started the car, the engine roaring into life.

And as she drove away, she never looked back, never glanced into the rearview mirror to see him watching her disappear into the sea of cars that composed the New York traffic.

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**A/N: Leave a review! ÷**


	12. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note:** I apologize profusely. But I will post all chapter now tonight! I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Back **

**Chapter 11**

Early on Friday morning, Luka quietly unlocked the door to Marinette's penthouse. Pushing it open, he stepped inside, closing it behind him with the utmost care as to make as little noise as possible. He was not trying to surprise her; rather he knew she was most likely sleeping—after all, she had always enjoyed sleeping as much as possible in the mornings. That particular trait of hers used to annoy his friends sometimes, he remembered.

At the moment, not only could it be considered an advantage, but he also felt like he would give _anything_ to be able to enjoy witnessing it manifest at least one more time.

She had not called him. A part of him had expected that, considering her stubbornness, as well as the level she had gotten hurt at; another part of him, however, took the blow of rejection rather hard, and forced him to stay away from her for a while, forced him to make the decision he had made. But it was all for the best. That was what he told himself every time doubts started to creep into his heart.

He was leaving. He was leaving her alone, like she had wanted from the very beginning. He had already lost her once—and this time, he would lose her forever. And as much as he willed himself to accept that fact, he knew he would not be able to say goodbye to her—it would be too painful. He would not leave without at least letting her know, though. He would not do the same thing she had done to him, for he knew perfectly well how much it had hurt. How many days he had spent worrying about her safety. How many nights he hadn't slept thinking about her, about where she could have gone. How much pain he had endured until he finally found out that she was in America, that she was safe and unharmed. No, he would not do that to her—he could never.

So he resumed at sneaking through her apartment, like a burglar waiting to be caught at any time. Quietly, he climbed up the stairs, making his way to her bedroom, eager to get the painful situation over with—to leave the envelope on her nightstand, and then be free to leave.

When his eyes finally fell on her sleeping figure, however, all traces of eagerness disappeared, being instantly replaced by a dreadful feeling, by desolate pain and sorrow. She was sleeping on her side, her arms hugging the pillow her head rested on; her features were peaceful, erased of any worries or annoyances. The silk sheets covered her from waist down, and he stifled a chuckle upon the realization that she truly did sleep with as little clothes on as possible.

Slowly, he made his way towards the bed and quietly placed the white envelope on her nightstand, before crouching down so that he was at eye-level with her sleeping figure. Reaching out with his hand, he gently brushed a few stray locks of midnight blue hair away from her face, stopping for a moment to caress her cheek in the process. Her skin was just as soft as he remembered, and so was her silky hair. And her lips… God, how he missed kissing her. Before that thought could develop into something more, he shook his head, erasing it from his mind. There was no point in dwelling on this—he needed to come to terms with the fact that she was no longer his.

Closing his eyes for a brief moment in an effort to dull the pain that coursed through his veins, he stood up. He allowed himself another moment to watch her, a gentle look in his eyes, and then carefully pulled the covers over her shoulders, trying to force memories of a long time ago—memories of a time when _he_ used to be the one to keep her warm at night—to the back of his mind.

As he turned to leave the room, throwing one last glance to the sleeping figure on the bed, realization hit him like a ton of bricks, as though he had never quite been aware of it until now: this was it.

He had just lost her forever.

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**A/N: Leave a review! ÷**


	13. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note:** I apologize profusely. But I will post all chapter now tonight! I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Back **

**Chapter 12**

As a strangely unsettling feeling fell like a soft blanket over her surroundings, Marinette slowly began to regain consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked a couple of times in an effort to chase the sleep away; rolling over onto her back, her scrutinizing gaze began to carefully scan her bedroom, not missing a single corner in its quest to find out the cause of her rather sudden awakening.

Squinting slightly into the darkness, she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position, the silky sheets sliding over her bare skin until they piled up around her waist. Her frown deepened—she never covered herself with the sheets so completely as far as she remembered.

As realization hit her, she was out of the bed before her brain could even register the action. Grabbing a robe that was hanging over the arm of an armchair, she quickly slipped it on, fastening the cord loosely around her waist as she ran out of the room, downstairs. There was only one person in this world who had ever been considerate enough to make sure she was always warm, and if she hurried enough—

"Luka," she breathed out as she came to a full stop right in front of the stair case, her hand still clutching the banister tightly.

—she might still be able to catch him.

Said person turned around at the sound of her voice, an apologetic expression plastered on his face. "Marinette…" he murmured, his gaze gentle as it locked with hers, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, keeping her voice down, as though speaking any louder would shatter the atmosphere. Her hand let go of the banister as she took another few steps forward; for a moment, it looked as though her intention was to close the distance between them, but she stopped a few feet away.

Luka simply shrugged, trying to keep the pain in his heart from showing outwardly and affecting his demeanor. "I came to give you back the key that Chloe lent me," he told her.

"Oh," she said, biting her lip. "Yes, I… I wanted to mention this to you, but—"

"But you didn't want to call me, I know," he finished for her.

"I never said I'd call you," she reminded him, and the gentle tone she had used seemed to be at odds with the harshness of her words.

"I never said you did," he answered levelly. The eye-contact was broken when she looked down at the hardwood floor, and he took the opportunity to gaze around the room one last time, taking everything in, his eyes eventually coming to rest on a long pale yellow dress, partially hidden behind a transparent dress cover. "Chloe's wedding?" he inquired, turning his gaze back towards her.

Marinette's head snapped up as those words reached her ears, surprise flashing through her eyes. "How do you…?"

"She invited me," he answered simply. "Said I could come with you, in case I managed to win you back."

Marinette was quiet for a moment, silently contemplating. Biting her lip, her hand came up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture that didn't seem to suit her, despite the cute way it made her look. "If you… if you want to go… you can still come," she eventually said. "I mean, if you really want to see Chloe getting married—since you've become such great friends—you can come… with me."

Although slightly taken aback by her offer, a small smile spread on Luka's features. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "But I can't. I'm leaving."

"What?" she breathed, her eyes desperately seeking his in the darkness.

"I'm leaving," he repeated, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'm going back to Paris."

"When?" she asked, swallowing against the uncomfortable lump that had formed in her throat.

"Tonight." Looking away, he shrugged once again. "I… I left you a note, along with your key. I wasn't going to leave without telling you. But since you're here…" With a heavy sigh, he walked up to her, closing the remaining distance between them, and softly pressed his lips to her forehead, one of his hands sliding through her silky locks one last time. A tension-filled moment passed before he was able to move again. "Goodbye," he whispered as he walked past her, not trusting himself to look back—even once.

Marinette didn't turn around to watch as he made his way away from her; not even the click that resounded through the apartment as the door closed behind him managed to bring a reaction out of her. Her mouth hanging partially open in shock, she stood rooted to the spot for a moment more, before abruptly turning around and running upstairs, not quite able to come to terms with what had just happened.

Back inside the confines of her bedroom, she quickly located the item she had been told about. Walking briskly towards the nightstand, she grabbed the envelope and forced it open, hastily turning it upside down. The silver key tumbled out, along with another item that Luka had not mentioned; the paper remained stuck inside, but Marinette was quick to discard it to the side, her attention now focused elsewhere.

With glassy eyes—eyes that failed to conceal her pain—she stared at the diamond and sapphire ring along with the Claddagh ring that she knew by heart that had fallen in her palm. Her hands shaking lightly, she gently took it between her fingers; the precious rings blurred as traitorous tears invaded her eyes, and she bit down on her lower lip in an effort to keep them at bay.

Turning her attention back to the discarded envelope, she snatched it from where it lay on the floor beside her, ripping it even further apart. Pulling out the small piece of paper with trembling fingers, she held it in front of her as her eyes roamed it restlessly.

_Marinette,_

_Here's your key._

_I will keep my promise and leave you alone; I'm going back to Paris tonight. I'm sorry for not saying goodbye in person, but I didn't want to wake you up._

_P.S. The Claddagh ring belongs to you as well, mom doesn't need it anymore, said it always belonged to you the moment she gave it to me as our engagement ring before and Juleka doesn't like it. I know you probably don't want it, but I can't keep it any longer. And I didn't want to be the one to throw it away. I managed to buy you the engagement ring I always wanted for you too._

_I will always love you, but I respect your choice. You'll never hear from me again._

— _Luka._

It was in that moment that Marinette Dupain-Cheng burst into tears. She fell to her knees and placed a hand over her mouth, a futile attempt at trying to silence her sobs. All of the while, a single thought haunted her mind: this was it.

She had just lost him forever.

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**A/N: Leave a review! ÷**


	14. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note:** I apologize profusely. But I will post all chapter now tonight! I hope you enjoy it.

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**Back **

**Chapter 13**

It had taken all of her willpower to get up from her spot on the floor. It had taken every ounce of her strength and determination to manage a smile at the ceremony. It was still taking all of her not to burst into tears every single time thoughts of him invaded her mind. But as she stood there now, watching as the bride and the groom danced together, watching the tender looks they exchanged, the gentle smiles, the soft kisses, the affectionate touches… There were no words to describe the turmoil inside her.

Marinette was by no means jealous. She had known Chloe almost all her life; the blonde proved to be a very good friend especially when she left everything behind and she was happy for her. She _knew_ she was. She knew that emotion was somewhere inside her, bubbling beneath the surface; she just couldn't feel it—not right now.

With pained eyes, she watched as Chloe's new husband leaned in to whisper something in her ear, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips; his wife laughed softly in return, her blue eyes shining with so much happiness, so much love and affection, that Marinette found too painful to resist. Abruptly sitting up, she made a dash for the bathroom, knowing that there was no way she could spend another second there without bursting into tears. Quickly checking the stalls to ensure they were empty, she stood leaning against the counter, her own set of blue eyes meeting their reflection in the mirror.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair how others seemed to have it all. It wasn't fair how one small mistake was sometimes enough for a life to crumble to pieces. People shouldn't be allowed to have choices, she realized; they shouldn't be allowed to make their own decisions, because so far, her own had always been the wrong ones.

"Marinette!" Suddenly, the door burst open, and a worried-looking Chloe walked in, looking every bit as stunning in her white wedding-dress as the models that had sported it on the catwalk. Everything about her was flawless—from her light, natural glow perfectly executed make-up, to the sophisticated up-do her brown hair was gathered in.

Looking back at all the hours of preparation, Marinette realized that she should look just as beautiful as her friend—only that she didn't. At least, she didn't feel like she did. She felt disheveled, exhausted. But as she gazed back into the mirror, she noticed that none of those showed—there were no dark circles underneath her eyes, no tear stains on her cheeks. She looked perfectly put together, just as amazing as Chloe.

Feeling her confidence return, slipping her façade back on proved to be a simple task.

"What happened?" Chloe asked as she closed the door behind her, walking towards her friend.

"What makes you think something happened?" she asked, keeping her tone as neutral as possible.

"You can't fool me, Marinette," she said, rolling her eyes. "Those are tears in your eyes. What's wrong?"

Heaving a sigh, she placed her hands on the counter, her eyes downcast. She should have known this was not going to work with Chloe.

"Luka left," she confessed in a breathless whisper, swallowing the uncomfortable lump that had formed in her throat. "He visited me this morning, and told me he was going back to Paris. He gave me back my key… along with my engagement rings, and… and a note that said—that _promised_," she emphasized, clearly pained, "that I won't ever hear from him again." Rolling her eyes, she wiped at her tears, careful not to ruin her make-up. "I just can't understand why this whole thing affected me so damn much," she murmured, laughing bitterly. "After all, I was the one who sent him away. And now I feel like…" she trailed off, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain that attacked her heart. "Like I'd do anything to take back every word I said and just… let him have me."

"Marinette…" Chloe whispered, at a loss of what to say, of what to do. She had always known that this would end up badly. Although she had helped Luka in everything she could, knowing that there was no one else in this world, no other man that her friend could possibly come to love so much, it had been clear to her, from the very beginning, that she would reject him. She had hoped, yes. And she had done everything in her power to prove herself wrong, but in the end, reality won, and her perception of Marinette—the perception of a strong, unwavering woman, who would never regret any of her decisions, who would much rather deal with the painful consequences, rather than admit that she was wrong and subject herself to possible heartbreak once more—remained unaltered.

"There's still some time left, you know?" she said, unsure of whether pressing the matter was the right thing to do. "You can still change the course of the events."

A bitter smile fleeted across her features as her teary eyes were once again directed towards her. "How, Chloe? I've had my chance—hell, I've had tons of them until now. I blew them all! It's over!" she exclaimed, trying to achieve the nonchalance that was so characteristic to her, trying not to sound too affected. It didn't work. "Goddamn it!" she cursed, turning back to face the mirror. Placing her hands on the counter, she hung her head low, locks of curly hair falling over her shoulders and obscuring Chloe's view of her face.

"Marinette," she scorned gently as she approached her. Taking one of her hands, she forced her to turn around, forced her to raise her head and look at her in the eye. "Look at me. Pull yourself together," she ordered in a firm tone. "This is not like you. You're much, much stronger than this."

"I know," she whispered, running a hand through her hair as her eyes averted from her friend's, wandering around the room restlessly in an effort to chase the tears away. "I know—and I'm sorry. I know this is your wedding day, and I know how important my presence is to you, but I… the last thing I want is to ruin everything. So please, just… just let me go home," she pleaded.

"Hell no!" the brunette exclaimed. "You are going to leave, yes, but you're not going home to weep. You're getting in that car and you're going to the airport. You're going to stop him from getting on that plane!" She spoke with such confidence that Marinette almost believed her—she wished things were that simple.

"Yeah, right," she scoffed, dabbing at her wet cheek with the back of her hand. "With my luck, the plane has probably already taken off."

"You can't know that for sure," Chloe pointed out gently, "And I'm not going to allow you to lose this last opportunity. Go, Marinette," she encouraged, smiling. "Go to him. Besides, you're the luckiest person I've ever known."

Marinette gazed at her for a moment, her eyes searching her features for any traces of doubt, of hesitance, of insecurity. She found none. And for the first time in a long time, she broke into a genuine smile.

"Thank you," she whispered, giving her hand a light squeeze.

Chloe smiled knowingly, then winked playfully. "Go," she repeated, titling her head towards the door.

Biting her lip—and needing no more encouragement—she lifted her dress slightly, just enough so that it wouldn't trail on the floor, before hurriedly running out of the bathroom.

She was going to stop him. She was going to stop him no matter what it would take. Because she would simply not be able to handle seeing him walk out of her life one more time.

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**A/N: Leave a review! ÷**


	15. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

**Author's Note:** This is last chapter!

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**Back **

**Chapter 14**

It was already nightfall when Luka made up his mind, driven by the realization that he could not leave—not like this; not after having left her in tears, so broken, so desperate, practically unable to grasp what was really happening to her. Had there ever been a moment in the past when he believed that she did not want this, that she did not want him, the sole look she had given him when he announced that he was leaving had dissipated all of his doubts. She wanted him in his life. She wanted him, and yet, she did not.

She wanted the relationship they had once had—the strong connection, the peaceful atmosphere, the soothing words whispered softly in the darkness of the night. She did not want to doubt; she did not want to be reminded, each and every time she thought back to the past five years, that he had once told her he didn't want to marry her.

Under any other circumstances, he would have felt like a jerk for even thinking about leaving her again. But not now. Because, this time, he knew he was doing the right thing. Marinette was right: there was too much of a history between them, so maybe their relationship would never work out. Either way, it was now impossible for him to find out.

She had shut him out from the very first moment he came back into her life, only allowing herself the briefest moments of weakness—and even those, she had allowed because she knew it was the only way she could make him leave. He had lost count of how many times she had openly told him that.

And despite all that… He didn't know, really. He didn't know what had driven him to do this. He had known where Chloe's wedding would take place, and maybe that had been the woman's only mistake—letting him know. Because there was nothing in this world that could have stopped him from going there to see her—one last time; in that dress; smiling, laughing; happy and content. Just like she should have always been. And maybe he was being a selfish bastard, risking being seen, risking causing her even more pain, but he knew that, if he denied himself this, he would never have the heart to board onto that plane.

Slamming the car door shut, he had no plan whatsoever to speak of. He would just… go there. He would search for her with his gaze, hidden behind a door, a wall, anything that could shelter him from her trained eyes, and he would watch her. For how long, he did not know. It could be minutes, it could be hours; it could be mere seconds before pain started to ripple through him. But there was no rush—his plane left at midnight.

His hands in his pockets—something that seemed to have become his signature pose—he made his way through the lanes of cars, heading towards the elevator. The sounds of hurried footsteps reached his ears, heels clinking on the concrete floor, echoing in the enclosed space, but he refused to look up, instead choosing to keep his eyes on the ground. It was only when a flash of pale yellow suddenly appeared before him that his head snapped up, his light blue aqua eyes immediately locking with a pair of all-too-familiar bluebell ones.

"Marinette…" he whispered, stopping dead in his track. She looked stunning, more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. Her flawless features were accentuated by light make-up, dark eyeliner bringing out her eyes, while a light pink lipstick toned down the sophisticated look. Her hair was wavy, tumbling down her back and shoulders in loose, perfectly styled curls. And the dress… God, never in a million years could he have managed to conjure up the image of it fitting her so perfectly. The light yellow hue complemented her creamy complexion, and her silky skin glowed in what little light protruded into the parking lot; the crystals it was decorated with shone like little diamonds, discrete and elegant, yet glamorous in their own way. She looked exquisite—there was no other way to say it.

She had stopped abruptly upon seeing him, the rhythmic sound of heels clicking against the pavement coming to a halt. Mouth slightly opened, eyes widened in shock, she stared at him as though he was an illusion of some sort, an illusion her mind had trouble grasping. But in spite of that, the relief was obvious in her posture.

"It's not what it looks like, I swear," he scrambled to defend himself, "I'm not following you around—or anything like that. I just…" he trailed off, trying to find a suitable explanation, trying to convey his feelings through words. "Well, truth to be told, I just wanted to see you one last time, in that dress," he eventually confessed, somewhat shamefully. "I wouldn't have made my presence known, I—"

"Shut up," she snapped, interrupting him. Determined, she walked the remaining distance between them; Luka watched her, confusion showing clearly in his eyes. After a moment, she came to a stop before him, and he flinched instinctively, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for her to hit him. The blow never came. Instead, he felt a small body throwing itself at him, slim arms wrapping around his neck in a manner that was so familiar that it would have sent pain rippling through every inch of his body, had the shock of her actions not numbed it beforehand.

Blinking, he stared at the spot where she had once been standing, confused. "Huh?"

"Thank God," she whispered, and she sounded so delicate and fragile, so damn easy to break, that it was practically a no-brainer when he wrapped his arms around her slim waist, bringing her closer to his toned body. He had no idea what was going on, what had triggered this sudden change in attitude, but if this was a dream, if he was already on the plane—on that plane that was taking him away from her—and his mind had decided to play a twisted trick on him, then he preferred not to wake up—ever again.

"Marinette…" he breathed as he buried his face into her silky hair, inhaling her sweet, unique scent. His arms tightened around her, and he almost lifted her off the ground in his desperation; he wanted to be as close as humanly possible to her, to pull her right through his skin if he could.

"I was scared you'd already left," she confessed in a meek whisper, her face hidden in the crook of his neck. "I know it's taken me quite a while to realize this, but…" she trailed off, pulling back to look at him as much as she could, for his embrace refused to loosen. "I want that second chance," she finally said, biting down on her lower lip as she gazed deep into his eyes. "Really badly."

Unable to believe, to fully comprehend what she had just told him, Luka could only smile. "Okay," he agreed easily, looking at her with such adoration in his eyes that it made her insides melt.

"But I don't want to go back to Paris," she said.

Luka continued to smile. "Okay," he agreed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"And I want to get married," she continued.

A small laugh born of true happiness escaped his lips. "Okay," he answered simply.

"And if you ever hurt me again, so help me God, I will murder you with my bare hands," she finished, her bluebell eyes failing to convey the threat her words were supposed to.

"Okay," he laughed. Cupping her face within his hands, he lovingly rested his forehead against hers. "I love you so much," he whispered, gazing adoringly down at her. "I won't ever leave you alone again. I promise. You won't regret this. I will make everything worth it, Marinette—everything."

Smiling, she stood on her tiptoes, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "You'd better," she whispered softly, before pressing her lips to his, sealing their reunion with a kiss.

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**A/N: And that's done! I hope you all enjoyed it and I hope you'll read some of my future works. Leave a review! ÷**


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